The Civil Brothers: Henry's Return
by Gorrila Grace
Summary: It's 1864 and young Miss Rachel Basset's father must join the war, sending Rachel off to the Welling Estate. There she falls in love with Joseph Welling. But everything changes when Joseph's estranged brother returns. The war is on for Rachels heart.
1. Chapter 1

**1.**

_**Rachel**_

Hello. My name is Rachel Basset. Of that much I'm sure of. That and that alone. My story is not at all simple. And it is not entirely about me. It is also about two brothers. Who were handsome, brave and dashing. And who hated each other more than anything in the world. But I'm getting ahead of myself. My story is not one that can be told easily in one sitting, as if on a whim. No, I'm afraid mine is a complicated one with a delicate past and an even more unsure future. And so with that, I continue.

It all began in 1863. When Civil War between the once aligned states raged on. One side, the Confederacy; rebels of the south that held to slavery, the dirt from whence he came and whence he ate, and the sweat of a mans brow. The second side being the Union, the northern men who clung to their power, their law, and their constitution. Both lands, once beautiful, were now war torn and destroyed.

I grew up in Virginia with my father, having lost my mother to yellow fever at a young age. My father, Admiral Maxwell Basset, was a firm believer at where a slave's place was. However, he was never cruel and treated his slaves with utmost kindness, preferring to call them "servants," rather than "slaves."

When the war began I was nineteen my father was then called to leave for battle. I of course argued that he was far too old to go to war and that his limp would not allow it. However, with his experience as a captain in the Mexican war, he was a necessary asset to the confederacy. His leg had been injured while dragging his friend to safety in the battle of the Alamo. His friend, Edward Welling, would have died that day if not for him and father told me he was therefore eternally in debt. My ever loving father refused to allow me to stay in at our Estate, Blue Acre Springs. Apparently, with the country in such state it was no longer safe for a young lady to reside unattended. With the officials too busy fighting each other, highwaymen and barbarians ran amuck. So despite my pleas, father headed off to battle and had me shipped off to his good friend, Edward's, Estate. So it was there, in a little carriage heading up the cobblestone path to the Welling Estate, that my life changed forever.

I sat on the cushioned seat of my fathers carriage filled with a great mixture of feelings. Worry, for my fathers safety. Anger, for being chauffeured off, like I couldn't take care of myself. But mainly curiosity and fear, for I would be staying in a strangers home for some time. Though my father had assured me that the war would end soon, I could not help but wonder if he was wrong.

I let my head rest in the soft, wine red cushions. The carriage rattled back and forth with each clop of the horses' hooves. I leaned my head forward to the window and pulled back the velvet drapes so I could see where I was to be boarded. I saw we were already on the estate grounds and headed up the road to the front of the mansion. Two slaves stood on the stairs awaiting the carriage along with there master. Although I was a little ways off from the house, I could make out the older man with gray stringy hair wearing a brown vest and holding fine walking stick in his hand.

I brushed the drape back and sighed. The gardens that were surrounding the Estate were lovely enough, although I could not take many walks now for it was just the beginning of march and though the snow had melted, it was still bitter cold. The Mansion itself seemed like a very nice, comfortable place. Perhaps it was just because it wasn't home that it gave me a disappointed feeling. It also made me extraordinarily homesick.

I felt a slight chill as the breeze blew through….Why, I'm not even sure where it came from, for they kept the carriage closed up. A moving prison cell which I could not escape from. Nevertheless, I pulled my shawl over my milk white skin.

Suddenly, there was a small jolt and the moving prison came to a stop and I knew we were there. There was a short pause before I heard the sound of Walter, the driver's, feet hitting the ground. From outside the horse gave out a half-hearted, "Neigh." Knowing it was time to get out, I immediately brushed off my rose pink dress and smoothed my hair. I waited anxiously as Walter's footsteps lead up to the carriage door. Finally, the door gave a click and swung open, a small glow of gloomy daylight flooded by clouds shot into the carriage. Walter gave me a smile and wordlessly held out his hand to me. I graciously took the hand and put my weight on it as I stepped down from the carriage. Once both feet hit the floor I removed my hand from his and made my way to the steps leading up the manor. The manor was freshly whitewashed and surrounded by well trimmed bushes. A large fleet of stairs led up to the door where my charge awaited me with a smile.

So this was Edward Welling. Like her father, he was in his mid. fifties with gray hair blanketing his head. He was pock faced with wrinkles all around his eyes and forehead. His lips were curved into something I could only guess was an attempt at a smile.

"Welcome, Miss Basset. I'm very glad to finally meet you. It will be a pleasure to have your company here." Mr. Welling turned to his two slaves and gestured to the younger woman, "Mabel will give you a tour of the house and show you your room.. Please, make yourself at home," he said in a friendly tone. At that, he turned and headed into his house without so much as a question on how my father was, not that I had expected any less.

_Typical._

Mabel smiled shyly and turned to go into the house. "Follow me, Miss."

I obliged and walked through the open pair of giant doors to a lavish lobby. There was a magnificent chandelier hanging above me and a beautiful carpet beneath me. Mabel guided me through each of enormous rooms. The piano room, the art room, the sitting room, the lounge, the dining room, the kitchen, the study, the library, and eventually my room. It was decorated in gold linen and made it spring out at me. In truth, it was quite pretty, but somehow it felt completely inadequate to my old room. Though it wasn't quite as elegant as my new room, it was filled with memories since I was born into this confused world. The only thing I really liked out it was the window seat that laid under a giant window in my room. It was perfect for sitting and reading on. I could just imagine watching the sun rise and set. I really loved just the very idea of it.

"Danny already brought up your stuff, missus. It should be in da wardrobe. If that'll be all, mam', I'll be return'n to my chores," said Mabel with rehearsed grace.

I gave her a little smile. "Yes, that will be all for now, Mabel. Thank you for your time."

With a nod, she exited out the way we came in and I turned, with sigh, to my giant bed. Feeling exhausted after my long travel there, I walked over to the mattress and jumped up on it. Perhaps not a very lady-like thing to do, but I was beyond the state of caring whether or not it was lady-like. The wool blanket rubbed my skin and I instantly began to fade, sinking into the comfortable silk pillows.

_**Joseph**_

Hello. My name is Joseph Welling. My story is a complicated one. God knows I'd love to tell you that my life was normal. No Civil War. No dispassionate father. No sibling hatred. Now, some may say that the battle of siblings is merely a normal part of life. They would be right, too. Except mine was not a battle. It was a war. My brother, Henry, and I had only agreed on one thing since 1858: We hated each other. I had not even seen my brother for five years, since he ran off to the gold rush.

But I'm jumping ahead of myself. It all started in 1863, with the civil war raging on across the USA. According to my father, it was time for me to take my place in the world by joining the war. The only thing was that I had about as much desire to do this as I did to see my brother. Unlike Henry, I always preferred the indoors. I loved to just simply stow myself away in the library and read a good book. While my brother always enjoyed the wild things like hunting, fencing, archery, horseback riding, fishing and dancing, I hated it all. _He_ was the one that took off on his wild adventures while _I_ had to become the perfect son in his place. I was twenty and he twenty-four, making him the eldest and therefore the original heir to the Estate by tradition.

My father had his will written in 1853, back when he acknowledged David as his son. However, after he disowned my brother he was too embarrassed to change the will, since it had been already published and he would be disgraced if he canceled it. I always thought my father cared too much what people thought. Even so, the will stated that the Welling Estate was to be split between us.

Not that it concerned me too much. My brother had been gone since he was fifteen and I didn't think he'd return again. He was wild and untamable, never able to stay in one place. Never able to understand honor and duty. The only name he ever made for himself was among the ladies. O yes, my brother was quite the charmer and he knew it. The perfect smile. His reputable _eye-thing _that he did. Always knowing what to say and how to say it. I could still hear his slick and clear voice in my head when he'd first instructed me on how to approach a woman.

"Calm and collected, brother. Never show them that your nervous, it gives them the upper hand and _trust me_, you always want to be the one with the advantage in a relationship."

I had cocked my head. "Isn't that a little unfair, Henry?"

His rumbling chuckle echoed through my ears, "All is fair in love and war, little brother."

_Little brother._

I gritted my teeth. Oh, how I had hated it when he called me that. Never _Joseph_, always _little brother_, like he thought it was some sort of hilarious joke. That was just like him, never able to take anything serious.

I sat on the big brown armchair next to the oak bookcase that sat on the north side of the library. My boot-clad feet were propped up on the matching footstool opposite the chair. Unlike David, who secretly wore reading glasses, my eyes were keen and very able as they focused on the worn pages of _The Tale of Two Cities_.

Just then my father's voice interrupted my reading. He had the booming, authoritarian voice of general. Like Henry, I had been confronted with that voice his whole life. Unlike Henry, I listened to it. No matter what, no matter what little desire I had to do it, I would _always _hearken to my father's voice. I understood that my father only wished what was best for me. With my brother having flown the coop, I had to take up the family flag by doing things I didn't want to do. Like going to war, for example. But I was doing it, wasn't I? For my father. That was the type of family loyalty my brother could never understand.

"Joseph?" My fathers voice sounded again, closer now, as I heard the sound of the library door open and his footsteps approaching my lair.

"I'm here, father," I called out.

Suddenly, my father's face appeared around the bookshelf and he stepped forward with a slight smile. "Hiding again, are we?"

I cast my book aside to the end table and respectfully stood up, as I had been raised to do in my father's presence. "Forgive me father, I got lost in my books again, I'm afraid."

He ignored my apology and walked forward, putting a hand on my shoulder. 'Enjoy your boyhood while you can, son. In spring you go to war as a man to make me proud.'

I nodded solemnly. 'Yes, father. I won't fail you, I promise."

Without reply, his father looked him up and down, as if to examine his son's worthiness. Finally, he gave a little smile and clapped Joseph encouragingly on his back with is unoccupied hand. "Yes, I know. But for tonight, I will need you to be presentable. Our guest I told you about has arrived and I wish to celebrate her arrival by entertaining some of my friends tonight at a dance I'm throwing. I trust you will make her feel welcome, Joseph? Her father, who I'm unfortunately indebted to, has just went off to battle. Do try and make her feel at home, son."

I wasn't sure how I felt about having an addition to our family, but I had always wanted a sister, so I unsurely agreed with an deliberate nod of my head. I didn't realize what I'd just gotten myself into.

_**Henry**_

Hello. My name is Henry. I would say my last name was _Welling_, but I'm not sure if it would be truth. What is love? Well, I'm not sure that I should be the one to tell you that. I've had many a romance in my life, but little love. I suppose that's what defines this story. Love. Doesn't it always come down to the love of a woman? A passionate tale to the death? What _would _a story be, after all, without the romance of two? Accept, this is the story of a romance of _three_. I, of course, have committed many transgressions in my life that I dearly regret and I'm sure if books of my sins were to be written, the volumes would have filled Edward's library.

Yes, I call my father _Edward_. Partly in an act of rebellion, partly as a reminder that the wicked man that sired me was no more to me a father than a crocodile to a bird. I had grown to hate the old man through the past nine years as he spat on my every decision. Unlike my brother, Joseph_, the perfect son_,I refused to listen to him at all. He had raised me to be his tool and I failed so what good was I to him now? That's what my brother never understood. Edward Welling didn't love him, he _used_ him.

My brother and I used to be best friends. Inseparable, we were. Why, I remember the day when my mother came out to the garden with a proud look on her face. Edward was gone so it was just her and me. She had sat down next to me with a gleam in her eye. I, only four at the time, asked what it was and she had announced that I was to be a big brother. I had thought it would be the greatest joy of my life. Little did I know it would also be my greatest curse.

The little brat had gotten everything I ever wanted without ever having to pay the price _I_ had to. Perhaps that's where the resentment had started, jealousy. He'd gotten Edward's approval. The charge of the Estate. The honor and pride among the town's people. And the one thing I did have, he stole from me.

My mother, Martha Welling. She had been forced into a marriage with Edward at a young age, but the world never knew a more loving mother. Nor a more hating wife. She hated Edward perhaps more than I ever could. She knew what type of man he was. What type of father he would be. She was perhaps the one person in the world that understood me. That loved me. She died an hour after my brother's birth. And with that her death and his birth, something else was born: Bitterness.

My loving nanny and substitute-mother, Eliza, had told me that it wasn't his fault. Joseph had no control of what happened. Even so, I grew to hate him for it. That boy, that _thing_, had taken everything from me! And now he dared accuse me of what he did not know? The little nuisance would know no greater misfortune in his life than my fury, I' d decided. One day I would return and make his life a living hell. That was my one, and only, promise to God.

I heard the whistle of a cannon ball whizzing over my head and dropped to the ground, holding my hands firmly over my ears. _**Boom!**_ The ground around me shook and my ears stung. I held my breath as the heavy smell of smoke whirled in. Sweat leaked from my forehead and dripped down my chin. The heat was unbearable.

All around me I was surrounded by the sound of screaming. The audible screaming of perishing soldiers, both Union and Confederacy, and the silent screaming of all those who heard it. My eyes burned from the sight of blood and gore and men with severed limbs. Pain and suffering surrounded me.

And for what? Why was I here fighting this war, other than the need for action? Sure, I loved nothing more than to get the blooding rushing in my veins and the sweat rolling off my brow as I defeated highwaymen and fought Indians, but this…..this was different. This wasn't just fighting. This was _manslaughter_. So then why was I here? Why was I here in the midst of this savage brutality among fellow country men? Many left because they believed they needed to protect their homeland. But I, I was unique. Anyone who grew up in Virginia, like I, would of course be fighting for the confederates. However, I had made a different, and far more difficult choice. I fought for the Union.

I had returned just before I went to war to retrieve some of my things. My father found out where I was going and nearly had a heart attack. He claimed I was a stranger to him, but hadn't I been since the day I was born? My brother hadn't been there, he'd been at Harvard. But I'm sure he hated me more now than ever. It had been a hard choice. All my friends, everyone that had ever the slightest bit of respect for me, they all thought me a traitor.

Even though I was hated beyond conception, I at least had the peace of mind that I had done the right thing for once it my life. The one thing to atone for my sins. All my life I had seen my father treat our slaves with cruelty. I had never understood why. They were sweet people. They had souls just like us, so why did their color matter? And, much to my father's disdain, I made friends with them. I had once asked nanny, Eliza, why it mattered what color skin they were. She had told me that it was just the way things were, the way things would always be. That wasn't good enough for me.

I heard a shout sound out from behind me, "Henry, behind you!"

I whirled around to see a stocky built man rushing my way, sword held high and ready to strike. Without even thinking about it, my hand sprang for the pistol in my belt. A gleam of sunlight shone on his blade as it began to curve for my neck. My heart beat out of my chest and everything fell into slow motion as my life flashed before my eyes. I felt the leather handle of my pistol and desperately grabbed it.

The confederate gave out a battle cry as he swung for my head. Nothing was in slow motion now. It happened in a blink. Heart racing, I whipped out my pistol and pulled it out in front of him. I felt the wind hit my neck as the sword blade came to my shoulder. With eyes closed, I wrapped my fingers around the trigger and pulled. _**Bang!**_

The sword suddenly dropped to the ground and the simple thud echoed in my ears as I felt my blood soar through my veins. I realized my eyes were still closed and opened them to see the man drop to his knees. Blood shone through his battered, gray uniform. I watched as he fell face-first to the ground at my feet and the blood splattered my boots. He was dead.

I sucked air into my lungs and blew out as relief poured over my body like a waterfall.

Just then I heard a shout, "They've retreated! The rebel scum have fled for their God forsaken lives!"

Shouts and cries of joy sounded around me as a felt a weak smile fall into the curve of my mouth.

_We won. Good God, we won!_

All around me soldiers jumped and screamed and fired off their guns in celebration. Call me a fool, but with a joyous grin I lifted my up and sent off my own shots into the air as I joined my voice with the others in bellowing, "Hoorah! Hoorah!"

Sweat pouring down from my face and blood soaking into my boots mattered no more. I snatched my cap up from my greasy head of black hair hurled it into the air along with many others. Who cared if we were silly? The brutes were defeated. I cast all my feelings on those _brutes_ being my fellowmen aside, along with the sickening feeling that I recognized the man at my feet. It was time for celebration and it would not be spoiled.

"Henry!"

I turned at the sound of the unmistakable accent to see my best friend, Nathan. His skin was as dark as midnight and his heart was as bright as the sun. With a smile I cast aside my gun and ran to him, locking Nate in an manly embrace. Here no one would judge you for hugging a black man. He was one of us. He was family.

Once I released him, he looked up at me with sparkling eyes. "We did it, Henry! We beat them! I know it's not to over yet. One battle in a war. But hang it all, we beat them!"

"Yes, Nate. We did it!"

I stared at the horizon ahead as the smoke began to clear. And as the taste of smoke left, the taste of victory filled it's place.


	2. The Civil Brother's Henry's return Chp2

**2.**

_**Joseph**_

The noise of father's guests buzzed into my ears as I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my suit. Never fail, whenever even the slightest occasion came up my father was the first to throw a party. I had not even met our new guest yet, though it seemed I was about to. I really hoped this wasn't another one of my father's matchmaking schemes.

I tugged at my collar once more as I observed it with accuracy. Supposedly, this used to be Henry's. The very thought of wearing his clothes made me sick to my stomach. To think he ever even wore a suit! My brother had always preferred the cowboy getup, complete with gun belt and five gallon hat.

I wiped those memories away. For all I knew and cared, he could be dead. I'd heard when I returned from Oxford how he had returned home with that arrogant smirk that he wore so well. He had bragged to my father on how he was going to the Union instead of the Confederacy, just to mock him.

My father, being the true hearted man that he was, begged him not to do it, told him that he would only hurt himself. He got on his hands and knees and begged Henry to come home, to be his son. He wanted us to be a family again. He told him he loved him and apologized for past transgressions and even embraced him.

What did my brother do? My father told me, with tears in his eyes, that my brother spat in his face. Why, he even went so far as to hit him. Our father, his own flesh and blood! The fool was dead to me.

I gave my clothing one last look over before I turned from the mirror and headed out of my door. Apparently, the guest was staying in the room across from mine. I gave it a slight glance before I walked down the hall. I walked straight over to the stairway and began to run my hand along the banister as I made my way down. With each step the wooden planks creaked beneath my feet. Father really needed to do something about that.

When I reached the floor, I could already hear the noise of father's guests partying. There was sure to be dancing as well as drinking, father never forgot those factors when hosting a celebration. I myself had never been drunk but once, when I was fourteen. Henry took me to the tavern on the left side of town. Besides my protests, he'd insisted I drink and dance with a few of the pretty girls.

I still remembered myself arguing with him, "We should be back at the estate, Henry. What would father say?"

He had taken a huge slurp of whiskey from his mug. "What Edward doesn't know won't kill him."

"But-"

Henry had looked at me with his famous blue eyes and put an encouraging hand on my shoulder. "Little brother, it's time for you to stop being Edward's lap dog and start experiencing life for your self. Now here's your taste of freedom. Don't pass it up."

He had finally convinced me. And you know what? I regretted it. And it was my own fault for listening to the halfwit in the first place. I had a massive hangover and father was wringing his hands by the time we made it home. Of course, my brother laughed and went about his jovial way. Despicable! He couldn't stay sober to save his life.

I realized I had done it again. Lately, all I could was think about Henry and I didn't know why. It was time to join the festivities. I walked straight down the maple brown to the two open double doors. I could clearly see the bright lights from the chandeliers pouring out of the room. Father always loved good lighting. He always said that people with more light had more class.

As I walked into the massive celebration, I saw her. She was standing alone by the punch bowl. Her long, brown, curly hair flowed delicately over her shoulders and her green eyes shown like diamonds. Her skin was pale, probably from being cooped up most of her life. As she turned and caught my eye, I felt paralyzed. Unable to move, unable to breathe. We stared into each other's eyes, both being far too stubborn to retreat first. There was just something about her that seemed to entrance me.

I heard in the background my father announcing my arrival, but I had already begun to make my way over to the punch table, seemingly drawn to the girl.

Once I had finished wading through the crowd, I found my way to the table walked up to her. But even though it had seemed like a good plan at first, I found my self lost for words. When she turned and looked up at me I was just simply standing there speechless.

"Hello," she said in a sweet voice. Just the sound of it melted me to the core.

_What is wrong with me? I'm acting like a mad man._

I realized I had to do something so I managed a smile.

She looked at me curiously and said, "So kind of you and your father to welcome me into your home. I'm very grateful.

Dumbstruck, I looked at with confusion in my eyes.

"I'm a guest. Your father's letting me stay here while my father goes to battle." It was a statement, but she asked it like a question, as if wondering whether I was really Mr. Welling's son.

I realized, with great embarrassment, that _this_ was the guest my father had spoken about.

With my face red, I stuttered, "Oh! Y-you must be miss, um….miss-'

"Rachel Basset." Rachel offered a gloved hand. I was unsure whether I should kiss it, or shake it so I just held it there for a moment before clumsily releasing it. This woman had completely turned my brain to mush.

Though I hate to admit it, I found myself asking _what would Henry do? _I knew it was pathetic, but as much as I hated him he did have his way with women. I myself witnessed maidens swooning at the very sight of him. He always had a charming air about him that women found irresistible.

Not that I was trying to come on to her! Of course not, we'd just met. I really only wanted to keep myself from looking like an idiot.

"What a wonderful party." Her accent was southern with a bit of a British twang that made me wonder about her ancestry.

Though I was still mesmerized by those eyes of hers, I managed to attempt a conversation. "Are you enjoying your stay?"

Her face lit up, as if relieved that I wasn't some babbling illiterate that she had thought I might be. "Yes, quite. You have a very lovely home. My father really appreciated your family looking after me while he's at war."

"Do you miss him?" I realized as soon as the words came out of my mouth what a congenial fool I really was. Of course she missed him! He was her father.

She raised an eyebrow, probably wondering what I was trying to imply. "No, no. I…..Oh, dear. Forgive me, I am such a fool."

I thought she might get angry, most girls would. But all she did was smile with forgiveness. "It's all right. Yes, I do miss him very much. My mother died when I was veery young so he's all I have left." Rachel blinked slightly and turned a little pale. "I….I have no idea why I just told you that. We just met."

I felt a slight pain wrench it's way through my body. "My mother died too. An hour after my birth."

Rachel put a hand on my arm and I felt my skin burst into flames. No girl had ever dared do that before. But there was no apology in her eyes. "I'm very sorry, Joseph. I hope you don't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

She was indeed the first girl I had ever met that was so bold and outspoken. There was something just so remarkable about. Not just her beauty, though she was very fair. She seemed to…sparkle. There was some sort of air about her that made her special. And I loved it.

Remembering the sensitive topic we were discussing, I replied, "I know it's not. Some people don't see it that way, though. I just wished I could have known her. My father doesn't speak of her at all. Maybe he finds it too painful."

"I should hope he doesn't resent you for her death."

I out my back to the punch table and leaned on it so my body was beside hers as I looked out to the crowd. "No. He's reminded me through the years that I shouldn't blame myself. No one really does resent me for it except…my brother, Henry. I suppose he has every right. He was four when she died."

She looked at me with surprise, "You have a elder brother?"

_Oh why, oh why, did I have to bring him up?_

"He's serving in the war at the moment." I decided it wasn't best to say exactly what side he was fighting for.

She turned her head toward me. "Are you two close?

I gritted my teeth, "Not really. We used to be, but…complications. The truth is, I haven't spoke to him in over five years." I didn't no why, but it felt like I could pour my soul out to this person.

There was a note of sympathy in her tone as she said, "That's too bad. Do you miss him?"

What was I supposed to say to that? I was about to answer _yes_, but one look into her eyesmade me give up any attempt at lying. "I'm afraid not. He isn't a very good person."

_**Henry**_

I brought a grizzled hand up to my forehead to wipe away the sweat. It was funny, really. In my home town the snow had probably just melted and it was still very cool out. But here, in Georgia, The sun beat down mercilessly. I tried to imagine my home in my head, thinking about those wonderful apple trees I used to climb.

I let out a little chuckle. I would go to the very top and hide and eat as many apples as I liked until Eliza came and found me and swatted me for getting my Sunday best dirty. My brother never was good at climbing trees so I would help him by giving him a boost. He would climb up and pick a dozen or so apples and drop them into the basket I'd lifted from the kitchen.

At that I frowned, remembering the day when the had gone awry. Our father never approved of us climbing the trees. He said it was a waste of time and apples. We still did it, though. One time my brother had decided to go climbing without me. I was in my room, sharpening the knife Grandfather had brought back from the Mexican war. That's when I hear Joseph's cry. I looked out my window to see my baby brother hand from one of the tallest limbs desperately flailing and screaming for help as his fingers began to slip.

I had rushed down the stairs, out the door and into the yard. He was handing by one hand now, tears running down his cheeks. He was only nine and the drop was at least sixteen feet. I ran to the base of the tree and began to climb, shaking at the sound of my terrified little brother begging for my help. I remember feeling so scared. Not for my safety, but for my brother's. When I was only about a few inches away from hi branch, he fell. I had jumped from my roost and grabbed him in mid air. I had pressed him to my chest and landed on my back so that he would not be crushed.

With aches all through my body, I had slowly gotten up while Joseph kept asking I was all right.

Just then my father entered the scene. He was drunk, I could smell it on his breath. With anger in his eyes he had ordered us to tell him which one of us had climbed the apple tree. We both stood there, not saying a word. Edward ripped his horse whip out of his bag leather riding bad he had tied to his belt. I saw my brother's lip begin to quiver and then he started bawling right there.

"Silence!" he'd screamed, snapping his whip on the ground.

I couldn't bare it anymore. I wouldn't let him beat my little brother. I had taken a step forward and announced, my body trembling, that I had been the one who'd climbed the tree. Joseph's eyes had gotten wide, but one look from me told him he was not to say a word. My father gave me a beating to remember that day. I would never forget because of the terrible scar that rippled down my back. That was the only thing my _father_ had ever given to me.

As for Joseph, I was a fool to have taken a beating for that little traitor. When we grew older he began to side with father one everything. He sold me out thousands of times, pinned his own iniquities on me, even made fun of me at times in school, joining the others in calling me _the Tramp_. What a brother he was.

In return, I had sought to make him jealous by my becoming quite the ladies man. My first girlfriend, Selena, I had very much liked, but even more I liked the fact that I could show her off to my little brother.

My thoughts were interrupted my the sound of an ear piercing scream coming from one of the near by tents at our camp. It lasted for about two minutes before it finally went silent. Then all was quiet until two men exited the same tent carrying the marred body out and throwing it into the pile with the many others. The smell was awful as it wafted from the body pile that was by now surrounded with fresh flies. All around me were dozens of tents for the sick and wounded. Throughout the past hour I had watched over seventy-five people thrown into that very same pile. I was waiting. Waiting to see what would become of Jonathan, my good friend from the gold rush. He hadn't had as much luck as I, but he was a good man that had befriended me while I was in my darkest hour. He had taken a bullet in battle and I stood in the midst of the many tents now, hoping that he would survive.

I'm not a religious man. When my father forced me to attend service, me and my friends would always play some sort of trick on the priest until my father could no longer stand the embarrassment and had me banished exiled from the church. If there is a god, though, he sure doesn't listen to my prayers. And why should he? I'm not a good person. At one point or another I had even done a little work for the James brothers. I was their sharpshooter. Don't get me wrong, John and Jesse are real good guys, but I knew well that there career would end at the bottom of a noose someday. No one knew of my involvement so I 'd gotten away without any warrants. I had only been a wanted man once, in Seattle, but that's a different story.

Either way, I'm pretty sure God didn't really want to hear from me right then, but for my friend I prayed a prayer. Twelve minutes later I saw Jonathan join the others in the pile.


End file.
